


Dressed for the Occasions of the Future

by daisybrien



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Plans For The Future, Post-Finale, Weddings, but not their wedding, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisybrien/pseuds/daisybrien
Summary: Merle reminisces while looking forward.





	Dressed for the Occasions of the Future

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't put this here? Here it is now.
> 
> Prompt: Going to a friend's wedding.

“Dapper as ever, I see.”

Merle turns away from the mirror in front of him, a grin curling his lips as he moves to reply to the voice sounding behind him. The door to the cleric’s room is ajar, Davenport leaning against the doorframe with mischief dancing in his loving eyes. His hair is swept back, shiny with whatever is keeping it in place, his moustache carefully manicured to twist along with his own brilliant smile.

“I can say the same for you,” Merle replies cheekily, raising his eyebrows. His eyes skim over Davenport’s frame, a stocky, short build fitted into a glamorous tuxedo; there are golden military buttons in four columns down the front of his suit jacket, fabric an even brighter crimson against his flushed skin. “You’re looking a little flustered there, Davvy.”

Davenport snorts in response. He moves into the room. “Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know,” Merle says. “Have you been drinking already?”

“Maybe.” The two chuckle at that, as Davenport moves to wrap his arms around Merle from behind, hands clasped on his belly. “What’s a glass of wine to celebrate the occasion.”

“You could have waited for me until the reception,” Merle says. He turns back to the mirror, smoothing out the wrinkles in his cleric’s robes. His hands trace the golden thread embroidered along the hemlines of the crisp, white fabric, and he sighs. “I don’t think Killian and Carey would be too happy to have their pastor drunk off his ass.”

“They might be surprised you’re sober anyway,” Davenport chimes in. “If it’s not from alcohol, you’re just gonna hurl from nerves.”

“I’ve done this plenty,” Merle retorts in defence. “No nerves here. Just love.”

Davenport hums, pressing his face in between Merle’s shoulder blades. His thumb brushes against the fabric of his robes, back and forth almost lovingly, almost out of habit, and Merle lifts his hands to place atop his. Their fingers intertwine, old, worn wooden rings still smelling of sea salt and grainy from another world’s sand knocking together. 

“You’re going to marry everyone you know at this rate,” Davenport laughs, his voice muffled. “I mean like - officiate, not get together. You know what I mean.”

Merle laughs with him. “Almost everyone,” he says, and he raises one of Davenport’s hands to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to his knuckles. His lips brush against old wood, along with newer, barely familiar metal, cool and smooth; the band a promise to a new and different life together after the old, but just as happy. “We’ll just get Lucretia to do ours again.”

Davenport lets go, stepping back, and Merle has to hide his sigh at the loss. But when he sees Davenport’s face, it is alight with a familiar joy, one that warms his face and smooths his wrinkles, tension leaving him. He looks over his shoulder as he slips out the door, moving to join the others gathered in the chapel. 

“I’d like that.”


End file.
